


Memories

by grimcognito



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Steve with panic attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-11
Updated: 2014-03-11
Packaged: 2018-01-15 07:58:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1297333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grimcognito/pseuds/grimcognito
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint and Tony discover a box of old costumes and a bittersweet reminder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Memories

Steve was headed out for a ride around the city when JARVIS politely informed him Tony had requested his presence in the main entertainment room. Curious, he pressed the button for the lounge floor in the elevator instead of the garage, wondering what Tony might need him for.

When he stepped out into the large room, he paused, not sure whether to be offended or amused to see Clint in his old Captain America uniform. The first one, with the knit weave and tights he remembered as being nothing but hot and uncomfortable. He shook his head with a laugh when Clint gave him a grin, body too small for the suit and looking more like a kid playing dress-up than a full grown assassin. “How the hell did you dance in this? Feels like I’m wearing a damn brillo pad.” 

Steve chuckled. “It wasn’t my choice, but we did raise a lot of money in bonds.” 

“I don’t know how, since that thing is damned ugly, but this, now I like this. Why don’t you wear this outfit?” Tony’s voice drifted around the corner, and Steve frowned. All of his costumes looked pretty alike, but maybe Tony like his second version the best? He stepped around the corner to look and froze. There was Tony, wearing Bucky’s jacket, holster, and utility belt, the spare set he’d been given for public appearances, and surrounded by pieces of clothing apparently pulled from the open trunk with a SHIELD logo printed on the side.

Tony kept talking, arms flung wide to show the jacket off, as Steve tried to breath through the sudden crushing pain in his chest. “Sure, it’s a little old-fashioned, but way better than that star-spangled pajama set you’ve got going right now.”

“Take it off.”

Tony paused and raised an eyebrow, looking smug. “Why? Are we not good enough for your old toss-aways? Plus, it’s way too small for you. Was this your uniform before you were pumped full of super juice?”

Clint was on the sidelines, eyes darting from Steve to Tony, then back to Steve again, like he was trying to figure out a puzzle but couldn’t find the last piece. Tony’s smirk widened as Steve lips pressed into a flat line. “I think I’ll wear it for a while longer. Maybe I’ll wear it to dinner. And you know how bad my table manners are, a drop or two of wine might get on it.” 

Steve sucked in a sharp breath and clenched his jaw against his first response, the beginnings of a panic attack building up in his ribcage. “Take it off.”

He took a step forward but Tony danced away. “Well now I really don’t want to. Don’t you know better than to tell me not to do things yet?” Tony slipped his hands into the jacket pockets and blinked before pulling out a folded piece of paper. “Interesting. What do we have here?”

“No—don’t! Jesus, Tony, please.” Steve knew what it was. A picture of himself and Bucky, still in uniform except for his mask and their boots, sprawled together on a tiny army cot after one of their more tiring missions. Howard had taken it while testing out one of his non-weapon related inventions—a travel camera—and Bucky kept it in his pocket for good luck, despite Steve’s anxiousness that someone might see it. Bucky had just grinned and said it was worth the risk. 

He remembered Bucky complaining that he’d left it behind it right before they’d started the train operation, and Steve had forgotten about it after; too busy trying not to think about Bucky, trying to live up to expectations when it was so hard just to put one foot in front of the other.

Tony opened it and froze, smirk falling away as he breathed a soft, “Oh.” 

Clint had snuck behind him and looked as well, eyes going wide. “Damn.”

Steve was mortified, torn because he was ashamed, and angry at himself because Bucky deserved better than that. Bucky deserved to be more than a dirty secret, because he’d done his duty, he’d paid his price, and his memory should be cherished. Steve’s heart thudded hard in his chest and he fought to keep his breathing even as he held out his hand, not trusting himself to do anything more.

“If you’re done playing around, I’d like that back please.” He was amazed at how calm he sounded. At least he thought he sounded calm. It was hard to tell over the ringing in his ears. His other hand curled into a tight fist, pressing his nails hard against the soft flesh of his palm to stave off the panic attack as long as he could. 

Tony, for once without any smart comment to say, handed the picture to him. The paper felt fragile in his hand, yellowed with age, and Steve tucked it into his jacket pocket before he could think too hard about it. Not here at least, because if he wanted his team to respect him at all, he was going to have to hold himself together for a little longer. He could think once he was alone. 

Tony began taking off the jacket while watching Steve closely, and Clint had apparently already found what he was looking for, because he was purposefully quiet. The way he got when he’d locked onto a target and was just waiting for the go-ahead. Steve didn’t want to know what they thought, though he could almost feel it buzzing in the sudden quiet. Thick silence, full of questions, judgment, and Steve couldn’t stand it. 

He turned and walked right back to the elevator, unable to hear past the rushing in his ears as he stepped inside to tell if either one of them said anything. It wasn’t until it took him three tries to hit the button of his floor that Steve realized how much he was shaking. He couldn’t remember taking the jacket from Tony, but it’s in his hand, so he must have. Lifting it to his face, he breathed in deeply, right where the thick wool brushed against the back of Bucky’s neck, and pretended he could catch the scent of something other than must and age. 

Smoke, sweat, gun oil and the faintest hint of the soap Bucky managed to get in town between being shipped out. That’s what Bucky had smelled like, at least in those last few months. Before he’d left for the army, Bucky had smelled like home—the cheap soap they used for their clothes, a faint trace of cigarettes, clean sweat and warm skin. It was Steve’s favorite scent. Even now, he’d catch a whiff of something similar and turn without thinking, searching for a face that wasn’t there. At least he’d mostly broken the habit of turning to share a joke or comment, only to bite his lip and ignore the looks he got for it as reality landed another sucker punch to the gut.

The elevator dinged, startling him from his thoughts, and Steve honestly couldn’t say how long he’d been standing there in it, jacket pressed to his face. Had to be a while though, the elevator was usually silent unless the doors were kept open too long. The only upside was that his panic attack had passed, though his heart was still pounding a little faster than normal. 

He moved into the hall and to his quarters. He can hear Tony’s scoffing voice at the phrase. Don’t talk like these are some government barracks, Cap. They’re called rooms, because I may have supplied the military, but I sure as hell never wanted to be in it. He should go explain things to Tony, to Clint, to everyone. Instead, he tapped his security code into the little device next to the door and set it to privacy mode once inside. “JARVIS?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Please let everyone know that I will be, uh, offline for tonight. You can contact me if there’s an emergency.”

“Of course, sir. Would you like your dinner ordered in?”

“No thank you, I’ll be fine.”

“Very well, sir.”

Steve sat on the bed, jacket resting on his lap, and pulled out the picture, holding it gently between his fingertips. Staring at it, he brushed his fingers along Bucky’s tired form before he set the picture on top of the worn jacket and buried his face in his hands. Tomorrow, he’d talk with everyone tomorrow. Tonight he was going to grieve.

**Author's Note:**

> Standard Disclaimers Apply. I won nothing from either the Captain America or Avengers franchise, they belong to Marvel and Disney and I make no profit from this. I own nothing but the arrangement of words that make up this story.


End file.
